


Quiet

by doyou000me



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Job, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Non-con Handjob, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27265282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doyou000me/pseuds/doyou000me
Summary: Blaise just wanted to get some peace and quiet, flying a few laps around the Quidditch pitch. Walking in on Potter having a wank in the changing room showers made him change his mind.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 3
Kudos: 159





	1. A Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write something for the BlaisexPotter pairing for a good while now, but always end up overplotting it to the point where I can't get myself to sit down and actually write it. My frustration with that along with some inspiration from *ahem* a certain popular "entertainment" site with a yellow logo *ahem* resulted in this completely plotless fic. I might end up adding additional parts to it but no promises, so I'm leaving it as completed for now. 
> 
> Do write me a comment and tell me what you think.

The evening was quiet, the wind rustling through the grass. The sky was turning dark, the treeline of the Forbidden Forest a black silhouette backlit by the fiery palette of the sundown. The shape of an owl swooped past on silent wings overhead. Blaise frowned when voices came drifting towards him - there, on their way up the hill from the Quidditch pitch, came what looked like the Gryffindor Quidditch team, boisterous and loud in the silence. 

Changing the grip on his broom, Blaise stepped off the path to go around the Gryffindors. He shot them a glare when one of the Weasleys complained about a blister on his ass just as they passed him by, then lengthened his step to put some distance between them. As they disappeared up the hill towards the castle, the calm of the evening resettled and Blaise let out a breath. 

Sharing a dorm with the likes of Crabbe and Goyle, not to mention Malfoy with his insistent whining, really made him miss having his own space. Here at Hogwarts, there were preciously few places where one could find some peace and quiet without shutting themselves in their bed and sticking a silencing charm to the curtains. The pitch, on the occasion when he could have it to himself, was one such place. 

The stands loomed tall against the darkening sky, and Blaise turned off the path to take the shortcut through the changing rooms. It would save him a minute at most, but considering how close to curfew it was, that minute might just make a difference. With a tap of his wand and a mumbled  _ alohomora _ , he opened the door - and as soon as he stepped over the threshold, he heard the sound of running water from the showers. 

Had someone from the Gryffindor team stayed behind after practice? He hadn’t really looked when they walked past earlier, so he couldn’t say if all seven of them had been there. For a moment he paused, then he sneered and walked in, closing the door behind him. What did he care if he scared some Gryffindor lingering in the showers? 

Crossing the changing room with long strides towards the other door leading out onto the pitch, Blaise glanced through the doorway to the showers - and stopped short. 

Even from behind, there was no doubt that it was Harry Potter on his knees in the shower, the water running down his back and slicking his black hair to the nape of his neck. Blaise let his dark eyes wander down Potter’s thin frame, over the sharp cut of his shoulder blades and along the bumps of his spine. From this angle, it was abundantly obvious what he was doing, his legs spread and his hand pumping slowly between them. His eyes were shut and his lips parted, but he didn’t make a sound. 

Blaise watched, feeling the rise and fall of his own chest as his breathing sped up.The only noise in the changing room was the rush of running water - and then Potter’s breath hitched and he twitched. He bit down on his lip and bent his head, hand working with steady purpose, and Blaise’s pulse jumped. 

Leaning his broom against the wall, he took one step towards the showers, then stopped and looked over his shoulder. There were socks and shoes on the floor, Potter’s broom leaned against one of the benches and his clothes strewn over another one - and there, atop of what looked like a pile of knitwork, was Potter’s wand and glasses. With his own wand in his pocket, Blaise stepped out of his shoes and toed off his socks before stepping into the shower room. 

Getting closer, he could see the minute twitches of Potter’s shoulders and head, one hand cupping his balls and the other running up and down his erection. Blaise swallowed and shrugged off his coat, hanging it on one of the towel pegs. Rolling his sleeves up, he loosened his green and silver tie and unbuttoned the first couple of shirt buttons. Potter was clearly in his own world and didn’t notice when Blaise padded over to him. Standing over him, Blaise could see the dark flush on Potter’s neck and ears and the way the head of his prick appeared and disappeared into the tight ring of his fingers. 

Blaise sank down onto his knees, careful not to touch Potter just yet, water seeping into his slacks. Reaching around Potter, he leaned in and for a breath of a moment, the world seemed to slow to a standstill as he listened to Potter’s breathing and followed the water running down his neck. Then Blaise put one arm around Potter's middle and the other hand over Potter’s hand on his prick. Potter jerked hard, his head snapping up and his eyes flying open. 

“Easy, Potter,” Blaise said, hearing how his own voice had deepened. “It’s just a helping hand.” 

“What- what’re you- who-?” 

Potter started turning his head, free hand reaching out blindly, but Blaise tightened his hold around his middle and pulled him back against his own chest, soaking his shirt through in the process. Sitting back, he pulled Potter down with him and started moving his hand, sliding it down to the root of Potter’s erection and squeezing. Potter hissed and grabbed his wrist, but his breath stuttered when Blaised stroked back up and twisted around the head. 

“Have you never had fun with someone before, Potter?” 

“Wha… No, that’s… don’t…” 

His grip on Blaise’s wrist tightened, but he wasn’t actually trying to pull his hand away. His back was heaving against Blaise’s chest and his mouth hung open as the words died on his lips. Blaise bowed his head and placed a kiss on Potter’s shoulder, mouthing his way up to the side of his throat. Potter’s pulse hammered under his lips and those green eyes fluttered closed as a shudder ran through him. 

“I can feel you trembling,” Blaise murmured against Potter’s skin. 

Shifting his hand, the one clutched around Potter’s middle, Blaise let his fingers wander up Potter’s side, feeling the muscles in his stomach clenching, up to his chest to ghost over a pebbled nipple. Potter twitched and a half-strangled  _ Ah _ slipped over his lips. He was so very quiet, nothing like the other’s Blaise had been with. 

Of course he had experimented, living in a dorm with four other guys didn’t really leave many other options. Not that he’d ever done anything with Malfoy or - Merlin forbid - Crabbe or Goyle, but he had shared a few good times with Theodore and there had been that one time with Goldstein from Ravenclaw, but he had been so  _ loud  _ and Theodore could be so  _ demanding _ . Potter was quiet as if holding the sounds back was a habit of many years, to the point he didn’t even seem to notice the way he swallowed back moans when Blaise shifted his pace and angle. He threw his head back onto Blaise’s shoulder and his back bowed, every muscle in his body tensing.

“I- I’m going to- d-don’t-” he gasped. 

“It’s okay,” Blaise said, finding Potter’s ear and lightly teething the lobe. “Whenever you want to.” 

The grip on his knee turned bruising and Potter’s hips stuttered in short, aborted trusts. His short, gasping breaths were hot against Blaise’s cheek. When he came, Potter had his eyes clenched shut and his mouth hung open as his prick pulsed in Blaise’s hand. He came hard and kept coming as Blaise stroked him, slowing his pace to long, sure strokes. The tension ran out of him and Potter collapsed back against Blaise’s chest, head rolling loosely on his shoulder as Potter’s hand slipped from around Blaise’s wrist. Still Blaise kept going with a light grip, stroking until Potter was completely limp and an oversensitised shudder wrecked his frame, a groan breaking out. 

Potter’s heavy breathing filled the shower stall, hitching when the water from the still running shower hit his sensitive skin. Blaise shifted and reached up to turn the tap, only for Potter to start shivering. They were both drenched, Blaise’s clothes soaked through, and the tiled floor was cold. Rubbing one of Potter’s arms, Blaise found his wand and summoned the towel hanging off one of the pegs. He startled when Potter snatched it out of the air and pushed himself up, staggering to unsteady legs as he hastily wrapped the towel around his middle. Blaise sighed, already missing the weight of having Potter leaning against him, and got up as well - only to stumble to the side at the sudden blow. 

He raised his hand slowly and touched his cheek - it felt numb, but a hot pain was steadily growing. Grimacing, he looked up at Potter and saw his still clenched fist and his drawn up shoulders. 

“Zabini? What the hell?!” 

“I suppose I deserved that.” Blaise prodded his cheek again and winced, then straightened. “I’m usually all for consent, but I couldn’t keep my hands to myself when I saw you. For all it’s worth, I am sorry if I’ve… hurt you, though I can’t say I regret it.” 

Potter’s glower darkened and Blaise had to stop himself from smiling. Naked and wandless, Potter still had the guts to punch someone who was both clothed and holding a wand, and then glare at them instead of feeling threatened and backing down. He sure was a Gryffindor, though a shivering one with his fringe plastered to his forehead and a glop of spunk on his stomach, visible just over the towel. 

Reminded of his own state, Blaise swished his wand over himself with a cleaning charm, quickly followed by a drying one. Looking back at Potter, still with his back to the wall and his eyes following Blaise’s wand, Blaise raised his brow and aimed his wand towards him questioningly.

“I can clean myself up just fine,” Potter snapped. 

Blaise shrugged, then turned and padded over to take his cloak from the hook. “I reckon you might want to be quick about it. Don’t want Filch to catch you after curfew,” he called and waved over his shoulder. 


	2. A Quiet Invitation

Blaise didn’t care much for Quidditch, seldom watched it and hardly ever played it. When he flew, he prefered to do it alone, or a one-on-one match for the challenge. But to risk getting bludgeoned and fall to his death for the sake of sport? 

Still, there he was, sitting on the very end of the stands, away from the loud crowd that took up most of the seats. It was Slytherin versus Gryffindor, and the stands were alive with banners and cheers. The commentator was booming their narration of the game, trying to keep track of the Quaffle’s journey from hand to hand in a ceaseless stream of words.

Blaise tried his best not to let it annoy him. He crossed his legs at the ankle and leaned back, trying to absorb as much of the weak sunlight as possible as he looked up. There, further up than any other player and circling slowly around the pitch, was the silhouette of Potter. 

The dark bruise that had formed on Blaise’s cheek had only just faded. Blaise hadn’t healed it, and when he had crossed paths with Potter in the corridors and seen the widening of those green eyes and the fiery blush that crept up his neck, it had been well worth the discomfort. Theodore had noticed, of course. One look from Blaise’s bruised cheek to Potter’s blush, and he had raised a brow with one of those looks, one that Blaise had interpreted as “Potter? Really?”. But as demanding as Theodore could be, he knew not to ask questions when it was none of his business. 

“And Potter dives!” the commentator shouted. 

Potter did, indeed, dive. One moment he was floating on the winds, the next he twitched around and dropped out of the sky. He seemed glued to the broom, pressing his body to the sleek handle, his Quidditch robes whipping around him. 

“Malfoy is speeding over now! Has Potter seen the snitch or is it a maneuver?” 

Blaise leaned forwards, staring across the pitch. Potter was right by the Gryffindor goal posts, circling the slim, metal pillar as he followed it straight to the ground. He reached forward with one hand, towards a target Blaise couldn’t even see, as the ground came closer and closer- and then he jerked his broom up, just as Blaise was sure he would crash, and weared off to the side, so close to the ground his knees must have been brushing the grass. Jumping off his broom at a run, he thrust his fist into the air and for the first time, Blaise saw a glint of gold catch the sun. 

The stands erupted in a roar. The commentator was shouting unintelligible gibberish. Malfoy landed and threw his broom to the ground, stomping his foot before storming off the pitch as the rest of the Gryffindor team landed in a ring around Potter, enveloping him in a confusing chaos of hugs. 

Blaise rearranged his robes so that his current… condition wouldn’t be quite so noticeable and quirked a brow at his own reaction. He’d certainly never gotten hard from watching someone play Quidditch before. 

Down on the pitch, the Gryffindors were moving to leave, their group growing as friends came down from the stands and joined them. Blaise followed them with his eyes, picking out Potter in the midst of the crowd, barely visible among his taller peers as they gave him rough pats on the back and ruffled his hair. Then, when they reached the path leading up to the castle, the group seemed to slow, almost swarming around Potter before they continued on their way - leaving Potter behind. 

His back to Blaise, he waved them off, broom in one hand and snitch still clutched in the other, before turning towards the changing rooms. Blaise felt his brown climb up as Potter paused at the door, then turned around to look over his shoulder towards the stands - towards him, Blaise. At this distance, he couldn’t tell if Potter was actually looking at him, but he was certainly looking in his direction. Then Potter turned, opened the door and disappeared into the changing room. 

Blaise leaned back again, staring at the door as spectators moved past him to go back to the castle. Down on the pitch, the Slytherin team was filtering into their changing room and Madam Hooch was gathering the balls into their crate. 

Had Potter looked at him? 

If he had, did it mean what Blaise thought it might mean? 

He waited, excitement at the possibilities pumping through his veins. Would he miss his chance if he was too slow? Still, he stayed in his seat until the stands were practically empty before getting up and heading down to the changing rooms. He didn’t allow himself to pause or hesitate, just gripped the handle, turned it and walked inside, closing the door behind himself. It hadn’t even been locked. 

Potter looked up and stared at him. He didn’t look surprised to see him, not really, more as if he hadn’t actually expected Blaise to show up. He was sitting astride the bench in the middle of the room, leaning back on his hands. Most of his quidditch gear was already in a pile on the floor or draped over the bench running along the wall. He still had his trousers and boots on but was wearing nothing on his upper body, his chest rising as he sucked in a breath when Blaise looked him over. He was sweaty after the game and his hair was beyond the point of “wind swept”, and it added to the effect of making it look as if he’d just been shagged. In short, he wasn’t bad on the eye at all. 

“I saw you watching,” Potter burst out, breaking the silence between them. 

Blaise raised his brows and smiled. Had he now? “And I saw you looking back. Were you waiting for me, hoping I’d come in here?” 

Potter glared and set his jaw as if he didn’t want to answer but couldn’t bring himself to lie. It was probably for the better. Blaise couldn’t imagine he was a very good liar. 

“Calm down, Potter. I’m just teasing.” 

Blaise walked over slowly, taking in the way Potter pulled his shoulders up defensively, green eyes following his every move - but he didn’t move away when Blaise swung his leg over the bench and sat down in front of him. 

“Congratulations on winning the game,” Blaise said and Potter blinked at him, lips parting. “Malfoy will be insufferable for days. Here, let me get those off for you.” 

Reaching down, he grabbed Potter’s leg, cupping his calf and feeling the muscle tense up in his hand. Still, Potter let him pull his leg up and lay it over his own knee, and he bent down to unlace the boots. 

“What are you doing, Zabini?” Potter asked, but his tone was quiet and without accusation.

“I thought I’d reward you on the win.” Blaise pulled the boot off, then the sock, then bent down and picked up Potter’s other leg. “Am I going to get punched again?” 

“Are you going to be a prick about it?” 

“I suppose I’d better not be.” 

Blaise smiled at him as he pulled the second boot and sock off, then grabbed both of Potter’s legs and pulled him in closer. He squeaked, a tiny little sound barely there, and his glare returned. Grinning at him, Blaise leaned forwards and reached for the buttons on the Quidditch trousers, but Potter immediately grabbed his hands to stop him. Blaise paused and looked Potter in the eye, his entire body tense as a wire ready to snap. Blaise waited, breathing steadily in the quiet of the changing room, ready to pull back at any sign that Potter was going to reject him. Potter’s eyes were a storm of indecision, flickering from Blaise’s one eye to the other, from side to side. Then he swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, and his grip loosened a fraction. 

Holding Potter’s gaze, Blaise turned his wrists in Potter’s grip so that he could stroke the inside of Potter’s wrist, the thin skin sensitive under his fingertips. Potter shivered and let go to pull his hands away, hesitating for a moment before putting them on the bench behind himself and leaning back. Blaise gave him an encouraging smile and reached for the trousers again, unbuttoning them with sure motions before hooking his fingers into the waistline and pulling. 

“Come on, Potter. Work with me.” 

Potter stared at him for a moment, then lifted his hips enough for Blaise to pull his trousers past his bum. Working the trousers down, he pulled them off one leg, then the other, and threw them aside. Blaise smiled at him and scooted back a bit so that he could lean down and kiss Potter’s knobby knee, his hand cupping the other knee and thumb rubbing circles around his knee cap. Keeping his eyes on Potter, watching for any reaction, he stroked his hands up slowly, from the knees and over the thighs, feeling the hairs stand on end as he moved up to the edge of Potter’s boxers, only to circle back down again. 

Potter stared back, his chest rising and falling, the tension draining out of him slowly and his wide-eyed, watchful stare turning to something more relaxed and less like a cornered animal. Then he shifted ever so slightly, comfortable enough to move, and Blaise stroked up again, in through the wide legs of the boxers, running his hands to the very top of Potter’s thighs and staying there. He rubbed his thumbs in slow circles into the fold between Potter’s thigh and crotch, getting teasingly close without actually touching. 

Potter sucked in a harsh breath and bit down on his bottom lip. Blaise kept his hands in place as Potter’s breathing turned shallow, his eyes drifted close and his head sank forwards. Blaise smiled to himself and listened to Potter’s breathing, the minute hitches that escaped him, the creak of the bench under them as he shifted. It was almost as if he was afraid to make a noise, as if he thought the reactions Blaise teased out of him were something to be ashamed of or thought that someone might hear them. No matter the reason, Blaise enjoyed the chance to explore, to learn where to press down to make Potter’s leg jerk, with how much pressure he should stroke to make Potter’s breath hitch. It was intoxicating, being able to take his time and bring the reactions out of Potter instead of having someone constantly making demands or telling him what to do. 

Pulling his hands back out of the boxers, he lifted them up to Potter’s torso and ran his palms up his sides. Potter twitched when Blaise traced the line of his ribcage, then gasped softly when he brushed over a nipple. The muscles in his flat stomach stuttered and his chest heaved, his ribs rising in clear ridges under his skin when he breathed in. He was lean on the side of thin as if Quidditch training had burnt away any fat he’d had on him, but the way his ribs stood out made Blaise doubt there had been much fat there in the first place. 

“You should eat more,” Blaise mumbled, then quirked a brow when Potter coughed out a startled laugh, his stomach jumping. 

“You sound like Ron’s mum,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath with eyes shining with mirth. 

“That’s… not a comparison I’d expect in a situation like this,” Blaise said and ghosted his thumb over a pebbled nipple, making Potter twitch. “I guess I’ll have to work harder if you can think of Weasley’s mother right now.” 

Blaise grinned at the twinge of worry that passed over Potter’s face and moved down, pressing a kiss to his ribs, his belly button, his sharp hip. Pausing, he breathed hot air against the waistband of Potter’s boxers, feeling him shiver under his hands. Taking the elastic band between his teeth, Blaise looked up at Potter and saw him staring back down, eyes wide and chest heaving. Now he was certainly paying attention. 

In one tug, Blaise pulled the front of the boxers down and Potter’s erection sprung free. Breathing hot air onto the sensitive head, Blaise made the erection jerk up in interest and Potter breathed out shakily. He was gripping the bench so hard his knuckles had turned white. Blaise smiled up at him, waiting quietly, letting the anticipation grow until Potter’s whole body seemed to vibrate - and then he opened his mouth and swallowed Potter down. 

The sound that tore itself out of Potter was raw and his hips stuttered in aborted thrusts. Blaise put his hands on Potter’s thighs and leaned onto them with his weight, holding Potter down before he sucked. Potter’s legs jerked under Blaise’s grip and when he glanced up, he found that Potter had squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenched and his teeth biting down harshly on his bottom lip. When Blaise hollowed his cheeks and started bobbing his head, Potter threw his head back and a guttural groan worked its way up from his arched throat. 

Had no one ever blown Potter before? 

If they had, they couldn’t have done a very good job of it. Potter was already coming apart, his arms shaking behind him and his legs trembling under Blaise’s hands. He was flushed and panting through his nose, mouth still tightly shut against any noise that would otherwise escape him, and then, when Blaise sucked extra hard, Potter’s entire body snapped tight and he came. 

Blaise kept on sucking as Potter’s erection pulsed on his tongue, then softened and slipped out. Spitting out the spunk, Blaise cleared it off the floor with a swish of his wand and sat back to admire his work. 

Potter had collapsed back onto the bench, his arms hanging limp over the sides and his chest heaving, his head lolling to the side. His mouth was open now, his breath coming in great puffs of air. He looked absolutely spent and Blaise couldn’t deny that he was satisfied with the result of his efforts. 

He stroked Potter’s thighs slowly, waiting as he gradually came down from his high. It took longer than Blasie would have expected from a simple blowjob - Potter’s previous partners must have given a mediocre performance at best - but when Potter opened his eyes again they were clear and he pushed himself up to sit facing Blaise. His hands rested limply between his legs and Blaise gave them a pointed look. 

“So? Did I behave?” 

Potter blinked at him, then looked down at his hands and snorted. “I’m not going to punch you if that’s what you mean.” 

“Then I take it you’re satisfied with our little victory celebration?”

Potter’s face turned bright red and he shoved Blaise’s shoulder. “Shut it, Zabini,” he grumbled but it was half-hearted and they both knew it. Freeing his legs from Blaise’s hands, Potter got up off the bench and headed for the shower room, rubbing his lower back. “And we’re not doing it in the changing rooms next time, my tailbone is bloody killing me.” 

Blaise swung his leg over the bench and turned to run his eyes down Potter’s backside, raising his brows even though Potter couldn’t see it. “Next time, Potter?”

Potter froze, every muscle in his body snapping tense, then seemed to shake it off. Raising his hand, he flipped Blaise off over his shoulder and continued into the showers. Blaise laughed and shook his head, then rose from the bench and tugged his robes into order.  
Throwing one last look into the shower, he took in the sight of a now fully naked Potter under the running water, saving the image for when he was back in the Slytherin dungeons and could take care of his own pressing need. 

He certainly wouldn’t mind a next time.


End file.
